


You Are My Heart (Else I Would Cut You Out)

by InfiniteCrisis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal, Consensual Rape, Dark Will, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemas, Hannibal is the one who needs help this time, I guess???, M/M, Not Really Canon Compliant, Post-Series, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Mutilation, Submissive Hannibal, THIS IS NOT A HAPPY MURDER HUSBANDS STORY, Will is actually really angry, don't even ask where this came from, mild bloodplay, sex as punishment, sort of ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCrisis/pseuds/InfiniteCrisis
Summary: This first chapter to a longer post-fall story I will probably never write, in which Will is uncharacteristically dark and Hannibal is uncharacteristically accommodating.





	You Are My Heart (Else I Would Cut You Out)

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Hannibal fic, and I've jumped in with this fucking monstrosity, omg, I'm so fucking nervous. Anyway PLEASE heed the tags and warnings, and, well, sorry. I'm just...really sorry. But I really needed to get this out so it'd leave me alone. Thanks.

There was no music but the clinking of cutlery.  They did not speak.  This was not unusual for them. 

Hannibal was unsure what he had imagined would follow their fall together.  Their shared butchering of Dolarhyde had been transcendent.  Sublime.  A moment of pure beauty.  But the moment had passed, and in its wake was only this…frozen decomposition. 

They were hiding, licking their wounds away from the world, but Hannibal had not thought that would mean hiding from each other once again.  They were passed that, surely? 

“Do you resent me?” Hannibal asked lightly, shattering the silence.  “Still, I mean.” 

Will paused, his fork hovering over his plate.  He lifted it and bit down.  Chewed.  Swallowed. 

“You made me see myself.  Know myself.  Why would I resent that?”  His tone was casual, but the question held too many notes of bitterness to be entirely rhetorical. 

“Why indeed?”  Hannibal’s eyes flickered over Will’s face, which stared down at his plate and refused to meet his gaze.  “You said, once, that you forgave me.”

“So did you,” Will answered.  “That didn’t stop you from trying to cut my skull open.” 

Hannibal felt the corner of his lips twitch.  “No.  It didn’t.”  Hannibal sliced off a piece of meat on his plate.  Rabbit, freshly caught.  They had yet to go after any…bigger game.  “Would you like to cut me open, Will?”

That managed to illicit a response.  Will’s eyes snapped up and landed on him like a crocodile rising from the water.

“It might make you feel better,” Hannibal explained simply when Will didn’t speak, glancing at Will pointedly as he bit the meat from his fork.  

A dry laugh burst from Will’s lips.  The sound made Hannibal’s heartbeat pick up for just a moment.  Even now, he could not quite explain the hold Will Graham seemed to have on him. 

The laugh stopped almost as abruptly as it had started.  “Maybe it would.”  Will’s eyes bored into him and Hannibal felt warmth spread under his skin.  “You know Hannibal,” Will said conversationally, leaning back in his chair in a way that implied he was changing the subject.  Hannibal wasn’t fooled.  “For someone as obsessed with manners as you are, you have a bad habit of playing with your food.” 

Hannibal blinked, taking that in.  “You’re not food,” he replied plainly. 

“Your prey, then,” Will amended. 

“You’re not prey,” Hannibal responded impatiently, an irritated sigh held back behind his teeth. 

“Then what am I.  What am I to you, Hannibal?”  Will tilted his head.  “A pet?” 

Hannibal’s mind flashed to Bedelia. 

“No,” he answered.  “No, not a pet.” 

He watched Will’s eyes as the man processed this.  They tracked back and forth, mind stirring, weighing, assessing. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, Hannibal,” Will said finally. 

“I want you,” Hannibal replied simply. 

“You _have_ me,” Will answered tightly. 

Hannibal was still for a long moment.  “I want you to do,” he said finally.  “Whatever you have to do, to be here with me.” 

Will was quiet.  “I’m here with you.”  His voice was soft.  “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You are not going anywhere,” Hannibal agreed.  “That doesn’t mean you are here.”  He met Will’s gaze, challenging. 

“Well,” Will said after a moment.  “I suppose if you’re unsatisfied with my _company_ ,” he drawled.  “You can always kill me.” 

A flash of anger tore through Hannibal, crackling like lightning in his veins.  He imagined gripping Will by the throat and choking the life out of him.  The image brought him little satisfaction, and no pleasure at all.  Which was the whole problem, now wasn’t it? 

“Is that what you want, Will?”  He almost spat the words.  “To finally goad me into killing you?  Is that what you truly resent me for?  Leaving you alive?” 

“You’re not my therapist anymore Doctor Lecter, don’t psychoanalyze me at dinner.  It’s rude.” 

Hannibal froze, something unfamiliar uncoiling in his chest.  “You do resent me,” he said quietly. 

Will sighed, rolling his eyes.  “Does it matter?” 

“It matters.” 

“Really.” 

“It…” Hannibal paused.  His brow furrowed slightly.  “It matters to me, yes,” he finished, feeling unsettled.  “Does that surprise you?”

Will considered.  “I don’t know,” he murmured.  “I’m not sure what you could do that would surprise me at this point.”

“I hope I haven’t become boring,” Hannibal said flippantly, covering his insecurity.

“You’ve become…familiar,” Will said carefully.  “Not boring.” 

“I’m not sure I can say the same.  Your… familiarity eludes me.” 

Will stared at him, eyes vacant.  “Is that what you want?  To be…familiar with me?”

“What do _you_ want, Will?” Hannibal demanded, patience breaking. 

For a long time, there was no answer. 

“Is this just idle curiosity, this line of questioning?” Will said finally.  “Or are you offering to actually give me what I want?” 

Hannibal was rarely aware of his own heartbeat, but now he heard the bass thumping loudly in his ears.  He yet again thought back to that night on the cliff.  Of blood.  Of sweat.  Of falling. 

“Perhaps what you need, Will,” Hannibal said, calm and deliberate.  “Is to stop waiting for me to give you what you want, and simply take it.”

Hannibal met Will’s eyes squarely, and waited. 

“I’m…”  Will’s voice cracked.  “…not sure you know what you’re offering.” 

“I’m not offering anything.  That would defeat the purpose, if I were to offer.”  Hannibal brought his wine glass to his lips, but kept his eyes trained on Will’s.   

 After a long a moment, Will’s jaw clenched. 

“Yes,” he rasped.  “Yes, it would.”

 

 

Will came for him in the bath.  Hannibal always bathed before bed, appreciating the touch of clean skin to clean sheets, and of course Will knew this, had observed this by now.  It placed Hannibal at a disadvantage, and so it was unsurprising Will would choose this time, though he was somewhat surprised Will was choosing to act this quickly.  Perhaps he’d been thinking about it for longer than Hannibal might have considered. 

With the design of the room, Will could not hope to enter unnoticed and he did not try to. 

“Are you going to fight me?” Will asked bluntly, taking steady steps across the tiled floor in his boots.

Hannibal inhaled through his nose and glanced about the room.  His mind automatically picked out potential weapons.  Not all weapons need be portable.  A porcelain sink could do as well as a hammer for producing a head wound, if proper force was applied. 

“That could get messy,” Hannibal mused aloud.  Will was standing over him now, looming over his shoulder behind the tub.  He tilted his head up and back to look in Will’s face.  “No,” he said clearly.  “I don’t think I will.” 

Will nodded tightly.  “Good.” 

Abruptly, Will’s arm was wrapped around Hannibal’s neck, pulling half out of the tub and into his chest, constricting tightly around his throat.  The hold was designed to block of the blood flow to his brain, not suffocate him or crush his windpipe.  The intent was unconsciousness, not death.  Still, Hannibal’s body reacted defensively, thrashing and tugging away from Will’s hold.  His feet fought for purchase but found none on the slippery floor of the bathtub.  Soapy water sloshed over the sides and Hannibal reached back over his head, clawing blindly for some part of Will to grab on to, his other hand tugging uselessly at the arm round his throat. 

He’d said he wouldn’t fight, and he didn’t, not really, but even he did not have such complete control over his body’s reactions that he could stop its instinct to resist what it could only perceive as a threat to its existence.  Still, he managed to restrain those instincts enough, and Will’s own strength did the rest.  Gradually, dark clouds fogged his vision, and then everything went black. 

 

 

His first awareness when he woke was that he was bound.  It was the intelligent course of action and Will was nothing if not intelligent, and so Hannibal was unsurprised to find his limbs restrained.  He wasn’t even entirely surprised to find himself bent at the waist across the dinner table. 

“If this is where you intended me to end up, it would have been more convenient to incapacitate me while still in the dining room,” he commented idly. 

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Will said, his tone dry and unenthusiastic.

Hannibal managed to turn his head somewhat, shifting it against the wood of the table, but he could not locate Will in his field of vision.  He must be behind him then.  Tugging on his restraints, Hannibal took stock of his position.  He was bent across the narrow width of the table, and strong ropes tied his wrists to opposite corners, spread wide like wings lengthwise along the surface.  His ankles were similarly bound, each one attached to its own table leg.  Reaching with his toes, he found his could just brush the floor, and a testing tug found no apparent weaknesses his bonds.  He’d been mostly dried off, though a bit of dampness still clung to strands of hair at his neck. 

All in all, he was quite impressed, and a pleased smile pulled at his lips.

“This is very well done, Will.”  He lifted his head, half turning over one shoulder.  “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” 

Silence, and the Hannibal discerned the quiet click of Will’s shoes on the floor, growing steadily nearer, and nearer.  The touch of a finger curved over his back, sliding across uneven skin. 

“Does it bother you?” Will asked, referencing the brand that still marred him there.  “That _Mason Verger_ managed to leave his mark on you? 

Hannibal considered.

“Not particularly,” he said after a moment.  “Mason Verger is dead, as is the man who placed the metal brand to my skin.  They both died in fear and horrible pain.  And,” he added.  “I rarely have to look at it.” 

“Hm,” Will hummed.  “So, this doesn’t bring back any bad memories?”  ‘This’ referring to his current condition, Hannibal surmised. 

“Mason Verger meant to treat me like a pig.”  Hannibal cocked his head.  “I do not think that is _your_ intention.”   

“No,” Will agreed, his voice distant and reflective.  “No, I intend to treat you like a bitch.” 

Hannibal blinked, and then he rested his head on the table, his lip twisting into a subtle smirk of unsuppressed amusement. 

“Have you ever experienced anal penetration before, Hannibal?” Will went on, sounding bored as he trailed his finger down to Hannibal’s lower back met his buttocks. 

He’d had an occasional medical exam, but that clearly wasn’t what Will was referring to.  “No,” Hannibal answered truthfully.  “I can’t say that I have.” 

“It can be quite pleasurable.” The finger continued to play idly over Hannibal’s skin while went on speaking, unhurried and seemingly indifferent.  “Given the proper preparation, lubrication, the time to allow the muscles to adjust…it can be… _rapturous._ ”  Will’s finger slid up Hannibal’s spine, then up over the slope of his shoulder in a casual brushstroke.  “You won’t be benefitting from any of that though, so I imagine your ‘deflowering’ will be defined more by pain than pleasure.”

“That is what you intend, then.”  It wasn’t a question; it had been obvious from the start, but certain beats must be acted out.  Theirs was a delicate dance, and it wouldn’t do to miss a step.

Will was silent moment.  Then, quietly, he spoke. 

“‘The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished.’”  The phrase was murmured, almost to himself.     

Hannibal heard Will let out a sigh, and then he was crouched down before so they were at equal eye level.  He grabbed a fistful of Hannibal’s hair and lifted his head, meeting his gaze with a tilt of his head.  It seemed eye contact no longer concerned Will Graham. 

“You’re a very intelligent man, Doctor Lecter.” Will’s tone was mildly mocking, though who precisely he was mocking wasn’t entirely clear.  Hannibal?  Himself?  Perhaps it was both of them.  _The Fool and the Fool Who Follows Him._ Hannibal wasn’t sure they even knew which was which anymore.  “A savant of destruction.  I could never _hope_ to do to your mind what you did to mine.”  He breathed in through his nose, letting the breath out again in a low grumble.  “Your body though… _that_ maybe I could manage.” 

He regarded Hannibal for another moment, then gave a half shrug and stood, releasing his hold on Hannibal’s hair.  “It’s a crude substitute, I know.  I’m sure you’re balking at the inelegance.” 

“Not at all,” Hannibal assured him easily.  “In fact, I can recognize a certain poetic symmetry.”  He lifted his head, searching out Will’s eyes, now towering high above him.  “A violation for a violation.  _Qui seminat in carne sua de carne et metet corruptionem_.”

“ _For he that soweth unto his own flesh shall from the flesh reap corruption_ ,” Will recited, sounding weary.  He turned his head to one side and sighed.  “Enough scripture, Hannibal.  Enough pretend poetry.”  He looked to Hannibal, and his eyes were now hard.  “Let’s not muddy this.  I’m going to fuck you.  I’m going to make sure it hurts.  I’m going to rip you open and make you bleed.  Not because it’s just, or right.  Because I want to.”  There was a sharp inhale from Will.  “‘Because doing _bad things_ , to _bad people_ , makes me _feel_ good.  There’s nothing poetic about that.”

“I disagree,” Hannibal replied calmly.  “The wrath of the lamb has found me at last,” he mused.  He glanced up at Will.  “You are the lamb, Will, and yours is the only wrath I would submit to, because it is a beautiful thing.  Because, it is poetry itself.  But, it hardly matters either way, what I think.” 

Will gaze was stony.  “No.  It doesn’t.” 

He walked off, once more out of Hannibal’s line of sight, and Hannibal let out a slow controlled breath.  His skin was flushed.    

“You’re aroused,” Will observed, his voice coming from behind Hannibal.  “You find this situation… _arousing_.”

“Evidently,” Hannibal conceded.  There was no point, or reason, in denying the stimulating effect Will’s diatribe had had on him

“What exactly,” Will mused, sounding perturbed.  “Is it that arouses you, given the circumstances?  Being bound?  _Vulnerable_?  That doesn’t seem like you.” 

“Perhaps,” Hannibal answered after a moment’s consideration.  “It is being bound by you, in particular, Will.”  He let that hang in the air for a bit.  “You are, I find, a key variable in my many of my experiences.” 

Will didn’t reply.  Then suddenly, there was hand harshly kneading the muscle of his right buttock. 

“I must say, you don’t seem at all concerned about what’s about to happen to you,” Will noted.

“I see no reason to be,” Hannibal stated plainly.  “I will admit to a certain amount of trepidation, regarding an event that promises to be deeply unpleasant, but there is no benefit to indulging in anxiety over something that cannot be changed, or prevented.”

“How very reasonable of you,” Will said, voice tinged with sarcasm.  “Dignity above all else, is that it?”

“Precisely,” Hannibal confirmed with a tilt of his head. 

“There’s also the little fact that you wanted this to happen,” Will said dryly. 

“I…” Hannibal paused.  This acknowledgement threatened to break the illusion, disturb the pantomime and perhaps lessen its impact.  After a moment’s thought, Hannibal took Will’s cue and opted for the truth.  “I thought it might settle some of your lingering resentment, and perhaps bring us closer together, yes.” 

Will gave a soft, dry laugh.  “Is this what you imagined it would be like, Hannibal?” Will whispered, hoarse and not quite sneering.  “When we finally… _consummated_ our _relationship_.  Is this what you’d hoped for?”

“We have already consummated, Will,” Hannibal said, pointing out the plain and simple truth, visions of black blood and dying dragons dancing behind his eyes.  “This, is merely a formality.”   

Will didn’t say anything, but his grip on Hannibal’s backside tightened painfully.  Hannibal wondered if he would bruise.  Then, the hand was gone. 

“Let’s get started then,” Will murmured under his breath. 

There was a brush of something between Hannibal’s cheeks.  It nudged against his sphincter and Hannibal could immediately tell it was not Will, but something artificial.  Thin and hard, it slipped inside him and there was a bright flash of pain as it scraped his insides, which then immediately dulled to a low ache.  It slid several inches inside until a broader base came to rest snuggly against his anus.  A moment’s pause, and then liquid spurted out from the tip into his bowels. 

“We need to clean you out first, Doctor Lecter,” Will explained needlessly, as the flow of enema began to fill Hannibal’s lower intestines.  “How’s that dignity doing?” Will asked mildly.

Hannibal bit back a grunt as his belly began to swell and cramp.  Nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled, he rode through the dark, sharp discomfort assailing him.  The water was hot—a shade too hot, really—and left him sweating and squirming against the table.  Despite the cramping and irritation, his arousal actually grew more intense as the increasingly flowing liquid placed pressure on his prostate.  His now fully erect penis bobbed futilely under him, adding to the constricting feeling in his lower belly. 

“You’ve taken a quart,” Will informed him.  “Only three more to go.” 

Hannibal felt his teeth clench as he didn’t quite manage to bite back a snarl.  Will didn’t comment, but Hannibal knew he’d heard him, his amusement at Hannibal’s momentary lapse of control palpable through the air. 

Hannibal already felt far too full, and he concentrated on breathing as his eyes began to water in a response purely to the physiological strain. 

Then, a particularly sharp cramp stabbed through him and he jerked, mindlessly tugging at his bonds, a low growl rising up the back of this throat. 

“Relax,” Will admonished.  “We haven’t even started yet.  We’re just,” and Hannibal could almost hear his lip quirk.  “ _Scrubbing down the meat_.”  Hannibal clenched his hands into fists, then stretched them out again.  He said nothing. 

“There we go,” Will said finally, after an eternity.  “That’s all of it.”  There was some shuffling behind him, and then the nozzle was unceremoniously ripped out of him.  “Go on,” Will instructed.  “I’ve got a bucket set up, so let it all out.” 

Will was seeking to humiliate him.  Hannibal was not so easily humiliated.  With a sigh, he quite gratefully allowed his bowels to empty, the streaming water a comforting accompaniment to the release of bodily stress. 

“You know,” Will said as he patiently waited for Hannibal to empty himself.  “Considering your tendency to eat people, have you given any thought to the fact that means you _shit_ people as well?”  Hannibal raised an eyebrow, amused in spite of himself.  “I suppose that might give you a certain satisfaction, considering what you think of most of the people you cook up.  Or,” he went on.  “Is that sort of thing just too _gauche_ for you dwell on?”

Hannibal didn’t answer, and Will didn’t press him for any kind of response. 

Once the last remnant of the enema had dribbled out of him, Will wiped over Hannibal’s anus and general area surrounding it with a dry cloth.  He then removed all the apparatus involved from the room.  Left alone, Hannibal took a moment to once again test for any weakness in his bondage.  Finding himself still securely tied, he let out a soft sigh and rested his head on the table.  Now that his bowels had been emptied, the feeling left behind was not unpleasant—clean and cool, with only a mild ache in his rectum to remind him of his previous discomfort.  His cock was still full, and his arousal left a pleasant tingle running through him. 

Will returned to room and stood, staring at Hannibal from the doorway.  Hannibal felt his arousal deepen. 

Will offered no words this time.  He simply came to stand behind Hannibal, between his splayed thighs.  In the silence, Hannibal heard clearly the sounds of him undoing his belt, unzipping his fly.  Hannibal let his eyes fall half closed.  He didn’t brace himself—he knew that would be unhelpful—instead, he prepared by relaxing.  Hannibal had an unusually high tolerance for pain, and it was because he was able to let the sensation roll through him without allowing it reach and cloud his mind. 

Will pulled apart Hannibal’s cheeks, and then the tip of his cock was resting against Hannibal’s exposed entrance.  Hannibal sucked in a breath and canted his hips slightly, pressing back into Will’s erection—partially because in the moment he found the feeling of Will’s member against his anus surprisingly pleasurable, and partially simply because Will would find such a show of eagerness off-putting, and frustrating Will Graham still held great entertainment value for him. 

Hannibal let out his breath in a low sigh, and inhaled again, intending to exhale as he was breached.  He’d only just begun taking air back into lungs, however, when Will interrupted the process by bracing himself against Hannibal’s backside and unceremoniously shoving the head of his cock inside.  Hannibal grunted, his breath caught in his throat mid inhale.  He felt his brow furrow; he’d thought Will would take more time before—

That thought was slammed from his mind as Will ground forward, forcing himself deeper inside.  Against his will, Hannibal felt his body tighten and constrict at the invasion, his arm muscles bulging as he pulled again against his bonds, this time the ropes cutting painfully into his wrists. 

This was hardly the worst pain he had ever felt, Hannibal told himself calmly.  And yet, rebelliously, something deep in his brain balked, bucked, _snarled_ , that this pain was too close, too deep, too _intimate_ to ignore or put aside. 

Will hands were on his hips now, his fingers digging in, prodding, scratching, and this time Hannibal was able anticipate his next thrust forward, which helped nothing at all as his body merely jerked forward in a futile effort to escape, pinning himself more firmly against the edge of the table while Will slammed further into him. 

He had already torn, he could tell.  Every movement from Will seemed to scrape his insides raw.  His inner muscles fought the intrusion at every turn, which in the end did nothing but make it more agonizing when Will finally burst through, ramming deeper and deeper into what felt like the heart of him.  He’d bit through his inner lip, Hannibal realized, the tangy taste of blood in his mouth a welcome distraction.  He’d also lost his erection, he noted dimly.    

He’d been too dry, too tight, too unready—and he’d known, Will had _told him_ , and yet he not been properly prepared for this.  That angered him, and his fists clenched.  He glared savagely out into the empty room—both impotent gestures, because there was nothing, _nothing_ he could do—

Another harsh thrust.  Another stab of shredding pain. 

He’d asked for this.  Not in many words, but he had.  There was no use feeling foolish about it now; he’d survive this, much more easily than he had many other trials.  Here he need only wait this out, wait for Will to finish exacting his retribution, exorcising this particular demon, and then he’d let him go and Hannibal would—

Well.  He wasn’t quite decided on what he’d do yet.  That didn’t matter.  What mattered was he’d have control over his body again, and all the power that went with it.  He—

“Tell me, Hannibal,” Will said, interrupting his thoughts, and Hannibal bit down on his cheek.  “Was it…this difficult…” 

Will was grunting, panting with exertion, but he didn’t let up, grinding into Hannibal with unrelenting force.  Hannibal flexed his feet as a fresh wave of pain tore through him, twisting his face into a grimace.  That was more of a reaction than he had allowed himself when Dr. Doemling had branded him.  He didn’t dwell on the implications. 

Will continued talking, gasping between words. 

“Was it this… _hard going_ …when you…shoved Abigail’s ear…down my throat?”

Hannibal felt himself freeze.  He’d only been half-listening to Will, but the man had his full attention now.  He gulped, swallowing blood and saliva. 

“Did…my body… _resist_ you?” Will went on in whispered gasps.  “ _Well?_ ”  He punctuated this with particularly brutal shove, and Hannibal closed his eyes, flinching. 

Everything stopped while Will waited for his answer.  Hannibal felt something sour turn in his stomach as he contemplated Will’s question.  Detachedly, another part of Hannibal couldn’t believe Will wasn’t fully sheathed yet, that there was still yet more of him that needed to be torn open to make room.

“I had…” Hannibal began, shocked at the weakness of his voice.  “…Implements.  I used tools…to make it…go more smoothly.”  There was an ache in his chest, painful and constricting. 

“Hm.” Will grunted, and smashed himself fully inside, his hips pressed hard to Hannibal’s skin.  Hannibal felt of wave of dizziness wash over him, his head spinning in a feverish haze.  Slowly, Will began to draw back out, and Hannibal felt his chest and stomach clench.    

“Will.” Hannibal reached for Will with his voice, instinctively.  It happened without conscious effort, and the sound of it startled him.  It seemed foreign, and far away; he could not recognize it as his own.  “Please, Will; stop this, stop—”

He was cut off by Will’s cruel, hysterical laughter.  “Stop?  I’m not going to _stop_.” Will slammed back inside and the first audible cry ripped from Hannibal’s mouth.  He felt shredded, gutted from the inside out.  “When have you ever _stopped_.”  Another thrust, and this time Hannibal managed to bite down on his tongue. 

Will went on, the rhythm of his assault in time to word he spat out at Hannibal’s prone back.  “How many people have begged you, Hannibal?” Will growled.  “Begged you to stop, to spare them, to show _mercy_.”  Hannibal squeezed his eyes shut, the pain inside him building, building, ever building.  “You didn’t stop when _I_ begged you,” Will said, his voice growing quiet.  The stabbing movement inside Hannibal had stopped as Will rested, fully sheathed, and it wasn’t nearly the reprieve it should have been.  Will’s hand slid up Hannibal’s back to grab hold the back of his neck, bending forward over him like a vulture to hiss into his ear.  “ _Not even when I begged for Abigail.”_  

Hannibal’s back rose and fell as he breathed, sucking air into his lungs like he were drowning.  He felt like he was drowning.  His throat was tight.  His eyes were open, but he saw nothing of the room around him.  His nose was clogged with the scent of sweat and sex and his own blood. 

“You took her from me.”  Will’s hand tightened around Hannibal’s neck, digging his nails into the sides of his throat.  “To _punish_ me.” 

Hannibal panted, mouth open, then swallowed.  He licked his dry lips, wetting them.  “I miss her too, Will,” Hannibal reminded.  “You took her from me as much as I took her from you.” 

In an instant, Hannibal’s head was yanked back, Will’s fist tight in his hair.  “ _Don’t_ ,” he snarled.  “ _Don’t you **dare**_.” 

Obediently, Hannibal fell silent. 

“You took… _everyone_ from me,” Will said through gritted teeth, his hot breath landing like flames on the back of Hannibal’s ear and neck.  “My friends.  My _family_.”  He pulled Hannibal’s head back further, straining his neck and shoulders.  “One way or another, you made sure that I had _no one._ ”  Will let out a sharp, breathless laugh.  “No one but you.  Well, congratulations, Hannibal.  Now we have each other, all to ourselves.”  Will let go of his grip on Hannibal’s hair only to grasp him ‘bout the throat from behind, pulling him impossibly close and pressing his lips to Hannibal’s ear.  “ _Lucky.  Us_.” 

Then he bit down hard on Hannibal’s neck, just under the earlobe.  Hannibal felt the skin break, a sharp burst of blood and pain, and as Will sucked fiercely at the wound Hannibal had a terrifying realization. 

He wasn’t going to kill Will for this.  He wasn’t going to do anything to him for this. 

It wasn’t in Hannibal’s nature to feel real panic, but this moment came close. 

“I’m sorry, Will.”  The words were whispered, barely more than a breath.

“No, you’re not,” Will admonished, voice lilting knowingly. 

Hannibal felt his eyes flicker.  “I am as sorry as I am capable of being.”  He tilted his head as best he could, twisting so he could meet Will’s eye from the corner of his own.  “Surely, that must count for something.”   

Will inhaled hard through his nose, and Hannibal wondered if he was breathing in the scent of him. 

“It.  Doesn’t.” 

Will released his hold and Hannibal slammed back down to the table, as though Will’s blunt words had pushed him.  His right cheek smacked the wood of the table and for a moment he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. 

“I’m not interested in your apologies, Doctor Lecter,” Will commented flippantly.  “I don’t want you to be sorry.  I want you to _hurt_.” 

There was a _bang_ as Will slammed into him again, and then there was only a relentless pounding, growing faster and more forceful with every thrust.  Trapped between Will and the table, Hannibal had no choice but to take the assault. 

Will fucked him—fucked _into_ him—tearing and ripping as he went.  Hannibal could taste bile at the back of his throat, and his eyes stung with unshed tears.  Purely physiological responses, he reminded himself.  The body reacting to trauma.  He would not concede that this had affected him, not in any meaningful way.  He would not give credence to the feeling that Will had somehow reached a hand deep inside him and _crushed_ something there.

He would not admit, that he was _changed_. 

He lay there—he did not know how long—unmoving, unblinking, silent but for his rasping breaths. 

Will spilled inside him.  Throat clenched, Hannibal’s lips parted as he gasped, blinking, and the tears in the corners of his eyes fell.  A sign of relief, perhaps, at an indication this ordeal was nearly over.

A single breath, and the then Will ripped out of him with as much viciousness as he’d plunged in.  Hannibal made a sound a Will tore himself from his flesh, a halting noise through his nose half-way between a groan and a whine.  He suddenly felt empty, in the obscenest of ways, like some part of him had been torn out, leaving a gaping wound.  He supposed his rectum might very well qualify as a gaping wound after Will’s treatment of it, but this felt deeper than the mere realities of forced anal penetration.  He felt disemboweled.

Hannibal heard Will footsteps as he walked about the table, coming to stand once again directly in from of him.  Hannibal found he had not the energy to even raise his head, and simply laid there slumped against the table, wrists and ankles limp in his bonds in a way they had not been even when he’d been deliberately unresisting. 

Will lifted his head for him, grabbing a fist-full of hair at the back of his neck.  Hannibal’s eyes were unfocussed, and for a moment he saw nothing but blurs. 

“You like blood, don’t you Hannibal,” Will said with a casual twist to his hair.  “The sight, the smell…the taste.  Do you like it even when it’s yours?” 

Hannibal blinked, and his vision came into focus.  Will was standing directly in front of him, his pants undone, his limp cock hanging in front of Hannibal’s face.  It was covered, _drenched_ , in blood, and, perhaps, streaked with semen and pre-cum.  Hannibal had been so disengaged, and so overwhelmed by the scents in the room, that he hadn’t smelled it before, but now dark wafts of sex and blood hit him like a warm wind.  His mouth started to water. 

“Would you like a taste, Hannibal?” Will’s voice was taunting. 

Hannibal indulged in a vision of snapping Will’s cock in his teeth, ripping the offending member from the man’s body, the air filled with yet more blood and Will’s screams.  Even if he could bring himself to do such a thing, it wouldn’t be wise under the circumstances.  He still needed Will to untie him.  Besides, without prompt medical attention, an injury like that could kill Will, and Hannibal had no desire to see Will dead, even now. 

“You want me to suck you,” Hannibal stated, managing to find something close to his usual even tone.  “You want me to lick my own blood from the flesh that raped me.” 

He lifted his eyes up and caught Will’s.  This was the first time either of them had made use of that word in all of this.  Hannibal watched Will’s reaction; there was a twitch in his eye, his mouth.  Then nothing. 

“I think,” Will said, his voice harsh, his eyes unforgiving.  “ _You_ want to suck me.  _Don’t_ you.” 

Hannibal’s eyes flickered, turning down and inward.  Unconsciously, his tongue slipped out and licked across his lips.  He fancied he could almost taste Will in the air. 

“Yes,” Hannibal admitted.  “I do.” 

“Then, all you have to do,” Will said, stepping closer and tugging on Hannibal’s head till his cock was a hairsbreadth from Hannibal’s lips.  “Is say _please_.” 

Hannibal felt drunk, he realized.  Drunk on pain, on powerlessness, on the scent of them both.  Heady and disoriented, he found it difficult to concentrate on more than the present moment.  Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, nearly groaning at the smell of Will’s sex so close and uncovered. 

“Please, Will,” he found himself saying, his lips and tongue feeling thick and heavy as he formed the words.  “Let me taste you.  Let me have you in my mouth.  Let me lick you clean and swallow the filth.”  He felt the low buzz of arousal start to return as he spoke, mingling and mixing with the pain, like red wine blended with white to make a rosé.

“Ask to suck my cock, Hannibal,” Will demanded impatiently.  “Say it.” 

Hannibal sucked in a breath through his teeth, something in him balking at vulgarity.  Which was the point, he imagined.  Like Alana, Will had sought to punish him by stripping him of his dignity.  And succeeded, Hannibal was forced to admit—much more than Alana, or Chilton, or Mason Verger had ever managed. 

He thought of Abigail, then, of her in the kitchen, in his arms, pressing the button that sent her blood spurting out into the room. 

“Please, Will,” he murmured, unsteady.  “Let me suck your cock.”  He flinched after he’d said it, working his jaw like he’d been slapped. 

“Open your mouth, Doctor Lecter.  And be a good boy.”  Hannibal’s lip twitched.  Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one to think of the damage Hannibal could do with his teeth.  That pleased him.  Smirking with his eyes, he looked up at Will, widening his jaw and sticking out his tongue. 

Will, tugging back on his hair to place him in position, slid his flaccid cock along Hannibal’s tongue into his mouth.  Immediately, Hannibal closed his eyes, the touch and taste intoxicating.  He wrapped his lips around the warm, living flesh and sucked hard, cheeks hollowing.  He tasted salt and iron, bitter almond and copper, and under that—smoke, and oak, and leather. 

It was mostly blood and cum, of course.  His blood, Will’s cum.  He could feel what was no doubt the same mixture dripping out of his ruined hole, sliding insidiously between his cheeks to his thighs.  His nose was pressed into the hair at the base of Will’s cock, Will’s hand tight at the back of his head, keeping him there, where his scent was thickest.  Hannibal sucked and sucked, and then swallowed, and blood and cum slid down his throat.   

His blood.  Will’s cum. 

Will was growing hard again, plugging Hannibal’s mouth and throat with his thickness.  Hannibal slid his tongue along its surface underneath, undulating against the vein that ran its length.  Will started to withdraw and Hannibal let out what was almost a whimper if it hadn’t been so muffled, barely resisting the urge to clamp down with his teeth, if only to stop Will from leaving.  Then Will thrust back inside, and Hannibal let out a deep groan, pleasure pooling in his groin. 

Will must have decided Hannibal had had enough enjoyment then, because he quickly began fucking his face with the same ruthlessness he’d taken his ass.  Soon Hannibal’s lips felt blistered, and his throat ached.  He found himself gagging as Will shoved mercilessly to the back of his throat, and Will gave no notice, never slowing or giving him any quarter to recover, simply holding Hannibal’s head in place and fucking through his restrained convulsions.  There were several moments when Hannibal found he couldn’t breath and feared he might lose consciousness.  His face felt hot and he imagined it must look bright red, his nostrils flaring as they desperately sucked in as much air as they could manage. 

His own arousal remained—though it never quite blossomed into a full erection—and he wondered if it was because there was less overt pain than with the anal assault, or if he’d simply adapted and grown accustomed to having his body invaded and abused.  Perhaps his body had decided to cope with the trauma inflicted by learning to enjoy it.  He liked that thought.  It subverted Will’s intentions, and kept Hannibal an equal player in this game, despite his apparent disadvantage. 

There was something about all these thoughts that rang hollow, but he chose not to dwell on that. 

For now, he could simply enjoy the hot spurt thick liquid at the back of his throat as Will came, and he swallowed down the issuance like it were the finest Béchamel. 

Hannibal savored the touch of Will in his mouth to the last moment as he withdrew, letting the tip fall limply from his lips and chasing it with his tongue.  Too soon, it was out of reach, and Hannibal let out a resigned sigh. 

“Did you enjoy that, Hannibal,” Will asked, mocking. 

Hannibal met Will’s gaze and lifted an eyebrow.  “Did you?”

Will said nothing.  Stepping back, he released his hold on Hannibal hair.  Hannibal kept his head up, staring calmly.  Carefully, Will tucked himself and way and did up the front of his pants. 

“Yes,” Will said, pulling his belt buckle taut.  “I did.  In fact,” he stepped forward again, and took hold of Hannibal’s jaw in a tight, bruising grip.  “I enjoyed it so much, I think I’d like to do it again tomorrow.  All of it.  Or…something like it.  What do you think?”  He stared down coolly, his blue eyes glittering like shards of glass.  “Shall we do this again?”

Hannibal’s lips felt dry, and that dryness seemed to spread to his mouth and throat.  To say he felt trapped would not be accurate; he’d been trapped before.  A trap could be fought.  A trap could be escaped.  This was something altogether different. 

“If you like,” he found himself saying. 

“Really,” Will said lowly.  “You’d let me do this to you again?” 

“I would.”  What else was there to say?

Will regarded him a moment.  “Would you let me do worse?” 

Hannibal blinked.  His eyes tracked back and forth as he considered.  “Within reason, yes,” he answered finally. 

“And what’s within reason,” Will prompted. 

“I expect you not to kill me,” Hannibal said simply. 

Will smiled, thin and dark.  “You should know by now that I can’t.” 

Hannibal smiled in return.  “Yes.” 

“Anything else?” Will prompted, tongue clicking against his teeth. 

“Nothing that would permanently impair my abilities or disfigure me.” Hannibal answered after a moment’s thought. 

“So, no cutting off ears or legs, for example,” Will said dryly. 

“For example,” Hannibal concurred.  

Will snorted.  “Okay, then.”  He let go of Hannibal jaw with a slight jerk, letting out a put-upon sigh.  “I suppose I should untie you.” 

“I would appreciate it,” Hannibal agreed. 

Will glared down at him.  “Fine,” he said after a moment, and began tugging open the knots around Hannibal left wrist. 

As he deftly worked open Hannibal’s bonds, Hannibal regarded him. 

“I must say, this is more than I ever expected of you, Will.  It just shows how much has been inside you, all this time.”  He rolled his now free wrists a few times, noting absently where the ropes had broken skin.    

“‘All this time’?” Will parroted tensely, shooting Hannibal a dark look as he moved to his ankles. 

“ _I_ certainly didn’t put it there,” Hannibal said reasonably.  “Not all of it.” 

“You know, I’m _really_ starting to get tired of the sound of your voice, Hannibal,” Will said irritably as he jerked the last rope from Hannibal’s left ankle. 

“You would rather I were silent?” Hannibal probed archly. 

“For the moment, yes,” Will said, standing. 

Hannibal placed his bare feet on the floor, testing.  He was somewhat unsteady, but he found he could push himself to standing without much trouble. 

“That’s a shame,” Hannibal commented, rolling his shoulders.  “I always thought you enjoyed our conversations.”  He lifted his chin, and met Will’s eyes evenly. 

Will stared back, a hard line to his jaw.  Then, Adam’s apple bobbing, he swallowed.  “Well, maybe it’s time we took a little break,” he said, rasping.  “From conversation.  Wait here.” 

He left the room, and Hannibal watched him go curiously.  He contemplated not waiting of, course, but he was honestly more intrigued by what Will would do if he obeyed.  He glanced down over his shoulder while he waited, taking note of the blood between his thighs.  The pain was more bearable now, though it would be lingering for some time imagined.  Sitting would be problem. 

Hannibal looked up when he heard Will return.  He was carrying a hand held mirror in one hand and Hannibal’s bag of medical supplies in the other.  It was one of the first things Hannibal had made sure to acquire, since they had both been injured, and in any case, it was always good to have some drugs and surgical tools on hand—you never knew when they could come in handy. 

Will set them down on the table, opening the medical bag.  He plucked a few objects out and set them in a precise row in from of Hannibal.  A suturing needle and thread.  Forceps and scissors.  Gauze and antiseptic.  Hannibal looked over them, blinking, then turned to look at Will. 

Will was already looking at him, waiting, challenging.  Hannibal tilted his head.  It wasn’t really a question.  Hannibal had a feeling he already understood. 

“It’s not permanent,” Will said, his tone curt.  It was more a reference to Hannibal’s parameters than meant as any kind of assurance or comfort.  “I’ll let you take them out eventually.”  He picked up the needle and held it up in front of Hannibal, offering. 

There was a long pause, and Will simply waited with quiet expectation.  Hannibal looked at the offered needle, a strange roiling in his stomach.  He thought of Abigail again, this time in his own kitchen, when he’d held out his hand for her and she’d come to him without a word.

Hannibal took the needle.  With practiced motions he applied disinfectant and prepared the suture.  Just as he was ready, Will lifted the mirror and held it in front of him, framing his face the glass.  Hannibal paused, glancing to Will’s eyes.  Will held his gaze steadily, without a flinch.  It seemed eye contact was no longer counted amongst Will’s fears. 

Hannibal turned his gaze back to his reflection.  Carefully, he placed the tip of the needle at the right corner of his mouth, under the curve of his bottom lip. 

There was the sensation, suddenly, of floating above himself, looking down with both serene detachment, and disbelief.  In the moment, he could not recognize himself. 

He pushed in the needle. 

Pain.  Blood.  He persevered.  His hands did not shake. 

He tied four perfect sutures across his lips, binding them together.  He dabbed away much of the blood, swallowed the rest, and applied more disinfectant.  Will helped him wrap gauze about his head, covering his mouth like a surgical mask.  That was only for until the bleeding stopped.  He was sure Will would want to be able to see the stitches binding his mouth closed, at some point.  Soon, he imagined. 

“There,” Will said, tying the gauze.  “All done.  Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”  He patted Hannibal’s cheek, and smirked. 

Hannibal imagined lunging forward.  He imagined clamping his hand over Will’s throat and pushing him back into the wall.  He imagined squeezing, watching hungrily as Will tried to gasp for air, wild panic in his eyes.  He imagined grabbing a scalpel from his bag and slitting Will’s throat, watching the blood spill out over his hand.  He imagined the life fading from Will’s beautiful eyes.

He did nothing.

 

 

Will tied Hannibal’s hands to the bed frame over his head and left him to sleep in his own room.  Hannibal lay in the dark, chest rising and falling.  Each breath through his nose blew against the gauze over his mouth.  He couldn’t sleep.  There was too much pain. 

Will hadn’t let him wash, and there was an uncomfortable stickiness between his legs, along with the deep pulsing ache, reminding him with each heartbeat of what had been done to him. 

 _Kill him_ a voice whispered.  But he wouldn’t.  He knew he wouldn’t.  Will felt as much a part of him now as his own organs and limbs.  He may as well try to cut out his own lungs. 

Daylight flickered across the wall, and soon Will came for him, standing at the foot of the bed and staring down at him implacably. 

“Spread your legs, Hannibal,” Will said.  His lips twisted as he spoke, like the words were bitter. 

Hannibal blinked.  Then, slowly, he did as he was bidden. 

Will climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Hannibal’s parted legs.  He undid his belt. 

“I dreamed last night that we died, when we went over that cliff,” Will said idly as we unbuttoned his pants.  “That we were in Hell together.  Then I woke up, and you know what?” He pulled open Hannibal’s thighs and lined himself up, glancing up to meet Hannibal’s gaze.  His eyes looked bruised in the half shadow—dark and hooded. 

“Everything was _exactly_ the same.”

 


End file.
